


chocolate lover's trash

by topnewt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affectionate Dean, Brotherly Love, Cute Sam, Fluff, Gen, Ice Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:30:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topnewt/pseuds/topnewt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets a craving for ice cream and Dean goes along with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chocolate lover's trash

“We should get ice cream,” Sam says suddenly after fifty miles of content silence interrupted only by Dean’s favorite tape, turned down to a Sam-acceptable volume.

“Are you serious?” Dean asks incredulously. It’s under fifty outside, dead leaves are falling off the trees like it’s a race, and they have the Impala’s shitty heat blasting. Sam’s wearing an oversized hoody with the sleeves pulled over his hands like he’s trying to keep warm.

Sam pulls his hands out of his sleeves and starts tapping the rhythm of the current song into his knees with his fingertips. He looks small in this sweatshirt; small in a way that exactly zero other things in the universe can make him look. Like he’s a kid again. He says, “Yeah. I don’t even remember the last time I had ice cream,” After a moment, “Probably with Jess.”

Dean tries to laugh, or do anything to keep the mood light, but Sam doesn’t really seem upset. Mentions of Jessica make Sam smile more than anything else these days and Dean doesn’t know when that change happened, but he’s glad it did.

Dean shrugs, “Alright, weirdo, we’ll stop at the next gas station, get a couple of those ice cream sandwiches or whatever they got in those freezers.”

Sam shifts in his seat and scoffs, “Gross, no. I want homemade ice cream, Dean, come on. There’s no point otherwise. We can find a real ice cream shop somewhere.”

Sam finds one he deems fit on his phone’s GPS a hundred miles out. Dean doesn’t really get what’s going on, but Sam is smiling, Sam seems good, so he figures there’s no need to question it.

Sam spends the entire drive talking about ice cream.

“We’d always go to Bruster’s if we could, remember? Dairy Queen if we couldn’t.”

“I’d get mint chocolate chip or chocolate pecan.”

“You always got bubblegum, right? When we were kids?”

Dean smiles, remembering. “Yeah. Or that super chocolatey shit, what was it called?”

Sam laughs. “Chocolate Lover’s Trash. And you’d always let me have a few licks of yours because it was my favorite flavor, but I’d get really hyper if I ate too much, annoyed the shit outa Dad.”

“You were a pretty annoying kid.”

“Shut up.” Sam snaps with a grin on his face.

“Annoying adult, too,” Dean notes, smirking.

“I’ll punch you,” Sam warns.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“No,” Sam agrees. He rests his head against his window and is quiet for about thirty seconds before he says, “I think I’ll get cookies and cream.”

Dean rolls his eyes and smiles without meaning to.

The ice cream place doesn’t have an inside and Dean refuses to let ice cream into his car, so they sit outside, on cold, stone benches at cold, stone tables, in the fifty degree weather, eating ice cream and trying not to shiver. They’re the only ones there and the lady behind the counter looks at them like they’re crazy, and she’s probably right. Sam gets cookies and cream and Dean gets bubble gum. It’s sweeter than he remembers it being, and it makes his tooth ache, but he eats the whole cup.

Sam, curled up with an ice cream cone and a hoodie that makes him look half his age, smiles at Dean across the table, knocks their knees together. Dean sees a rack of chills shiver down Sam’s back and through his shoulders, and Sam takes a bite of his ice cream, probably just to defy it.

“You’re a weird kid,” Dean says fondly.

“Not a kid,” Sam says, rubbing a sleeve into his pink cheeks to warm them. Dean can’t believe this guy saved the world once, except he totally can.

“You’ll always be a kid—an exceptionally responsible kid who can take care of himself and kill things. Still a kid, though.”

Sam considers this and takes a bite of his cake cone, wipes the sugary crumbs from the corners of his lips. “That’s fine.”

 

fin

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this plotless piece of fluff that i cried writing


End file.
